Love This Face
by Raining Star
Summary: After Heros, Cordelia's reaction. "It's not because I loved him"


The drive back home was both quick and long, at the same time. On one hand, a semi-painful numbness seemed to have settled throughout my skin; like a trip to the dentist office where the doctor gets drill-happy and goes to work on your mouth before the Novocain shot fully took affect. Or when you hold a bag of ice too long and the skin on your hands and forearms get that pre-frostbit feeling. Because of this numbness factor the scenery seemed to pass by the window at a dizzyingly fast pace. But at the same time, certain moments seemed to jump out at me and…linger. The way his voice thickened when he talked about fighting the good fight. Or how, for a few sharp moments, I believed we, me and him, shared a link in the way we were about to be left to morn for a fallen friend. I saw us, my body bent to fit snuggly within his arms, grieving for the self-sacrificing vampire…comforting each other by saying how redeemed he was, that he was finally free. At rest.

I'm ashamed to say that I could have justified Angel's death. I would have been able to grieve for him, cleanly. Without all these other…things. These other feelings. I could have bore the weight of his sacrifice with so much more composure then this.

When all of a sudden the passing cars and buildings turn into the feel of Doyles' hands on me, the way my lips moved beneath his, my heart, quite really shattered. Hiccupped, bumping against my bone structure until little pieces broke off. I remember the way his mouth moved, shaping the word "love" and that is a moment that lasts a lifetime.

So the drive back home was both quick, and long.

Angel dropped me off at home, I'm pretty sure he even locked me in my own damn apartment. I wasn't paying attention to him. Only moments ago I was horrified at the thought of a world without him, and now I don't care enough to pay attention to him.

I haven't changed.

Doyle called me princess, and mocked me for being tactless, shallow and superficial. Xander and the others, my own parents—they've all said the same things. But Doyle…he made all that okay. As in, not wrong. He looked at me like I was dozens of little blue boxes with sparkly jewelry inside. More, like I was worthy to be so beautiful. I could be tactless, and shallow, and superficial, and still be worthy. Still be beautiful.

I don't feel beautiful now. I feel…wrong. Like someone made a Cordy doll and forgot to add something important. Something necessary. Like my eyes, or my fingers. Or my belly button.

I can't stop crying now and I'm scaring Dennis. Hyperventilation is a concern, and so is snot. But all I can think about is his eyes, so bright and shocking. Like a chlorinated swimming pool lighted up at night, and the way he looked into my darker eyes and his mouth did that right-side-only smile thing that I've always liked. Chlorinated pools, smile and something about never knowing. Never knowing if I could have loved him.

I'm actually chocking. I'm dry-heaving over the floor of my lovely apartment that Doyles' guy found me and hoping to vomit. Someone's brushing my hair away from my face, my face which is practically kissing the floor with a wide open wail. Dennis, or Angel, and I don't care. Even now, as tears and snot and drool coat my face and my carpet...even now I can't have privacy. I'll always hate that when Cordeila Chase flew apart the goddamn powers that fucking be couldn't let me have this moment, couldn't let me be alone.

It's not because I loved him. We had never been on date, never been given the opportunity to collect memories of bed-sheets and family dinners. I'm not sure if he prefers (preferred) pancakes or waffles, or if his kind of substance would have been a comfortable fit for me. I had barely begun to think of him as something other than that guy with really bad fashion sense. He'll always be long, lingering looks, bright eyes and sexy—yes, Doyle, sexy—accent.

But that's all he'll ever be.

And that's what this is. It's not because I loved him.

It's because I'll never get the chance to figure that out.


End file.
